


Do or Die

by MaplePucks



Category: 2P Hetalia - Fandom, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Body Horror, Dissection, Horror, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 07:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6321235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaplePucks/pseuds/MaplePucks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Francis had known that letting a stranger buy him coffee was going to land him tied up to an operating table with no way out, he would have thought twice. Hindsight's 20/20, right? Lucky for him his captor will let him have one last phone call. At least Arthur won't have to wonder if he loved him in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do or Die

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a dissection horror fic. Gorey, violent, language. Don't read if squeamish, you've been warned.

“Oh my goodness, sleepy head! It's time to get up now! Come on, open those eyes, all the way, that's it. That's a good little poppet.” A sing songingly sweet voice called out, a hand patting Francis' cheek to try and rouse him. 

Groggy, disoriented, and sore, Francis struggled to come to consciousness. Where in the world was he? The last thing he remembered happening was walking out of the coffee shop, on his way to the park for his morning stroll. Then a strange gentleman bumped into him, spilling his coffee all over himself and the ground. The strange pink haired man apologized profusely for knocking it over and offered to buy him a new one. Francis didn't wish to be rude so he had lead him back to the coffee shop. Francis remembered, he stepped into the restroom to try and save his clothes from staining and when he returned, the friendly stranger had his beverage ready to go. 

He groaned, trying to remember. They had walked out side, back to the park, to a secluded area Francis loved. He sipped on his drink and then...nothing. Everything was confusing and blank. 

When he blinked and looked at the man singing him awake, he was even more confused to see the pink haired man. Francis tried to move and instantly wasn't confused anymore. He was frightened. He was tied down to whatever he was laying on by his hands and feet. He couldn't move! The Frenchman started struggling to get free, noticing now he was also almost completely naked save for a strip of cloth across his groin, when the man touched his face again. 

“Now, please don't panic! It's going to be alright, I promise. Just settle down, Mr. Francis.” He said. The man was so calm, so nonchalant that Francis' eyes pricked with tears. It was far too eerie and scary. 

“Who...who are you?” Francis asked first, one of a million questions running through his head. 

“You can call me Oliver, I like that name best.” He smiled back, before turning to go rummage through a draw or something. Francis couldn't quite see what was going on. He tried to wrap his brain around everything that was happening. It was bright all around him but he could see but little details of his surroundings. That made him even more nervous. Francis tried to clear his mind. 

“'ow long 'ave I been asleep?”

“Oh deary me, let's see...” He saw Oliver put his finger to his lips, tapping them in thought. “Time does fly doesn't? You've been unconscious for nearly two days now! I was fearful I had overestimated the dose! That would not have done us well, no indeed, Mr. Francis!” 

Francis' eyes widened in shock. Nearly two days?! Dose? Dose of what?! “Mon dieu, you must let me go! My 'usband will be worried sick about me! And I need 'ospital care if you gave me a dose of somezhing! S'il vous plait!” Francis cried struggling to get free again. 

But when Oliver turned around and came back to where Francis was laying, his blood ran cold and he stopped moving at once. 

He had in his hands a tray full of dangerous looking surgical equipment. None of it clean or sterile as far as Francis could tell. There were syringes full of multicolored liquid, forceps of every size, tools to hold flesh aside while a doctor poked around inside a patient and to Francis' horror, one very large, very sharp scalpel. Oliver set the tray down beside him and smiled, sending chills down Francis' back.   
“I'm terribly sorry, you don't seem to have come to terms with your situation yet. I suppose that's my fault for being so heavy handed with the sedative. Oh well.” Oliver sighed and then giggled. “Silly Mr. Francis! Your husband has every right to be very worried about you, seeing as how you are about to get very very hurt. Dare I say it, you might just die! Well, I'd be worried sick too if I were him!” He exclaimed. 

Francis blinked up at him, dumfounded, petrified. “W-what?” He couldn't believe what the man, Oliver, was telling him. 

“You poor thing,” Oliver sighed again and if Francis didn't know any better he could almost say it was genuine concern he heard in his voice. He picked up a black marker, beginning to make dashed lines along Francis' torso and chest. Francis' heart started to race as horror dawned on him. “You still don't understand, I'll explain it to you. I am going to perform a little surgery on you, Mr. Francis. It's going to be painful, I don't have any numbing agent. You will bleed. A lot. I'm concerned about you dying of blood loss, but it certainly can't be helped now.” He smiled suddenly and poked Francis' stomach playfully. “I just want to have a little peek inside, see what makes a Frenchman tick. Doesn't that sound like fun?” 

“NON!” Francis screamed, pulling and twisting against his restraints. This man was insane! Absolutely insane! It was fully dawning on Francis that he had been kidnapped by a psychopath. He needed to get out of here! The restraints were tight but he pulled against them, his flight or fight instinct flaring. Francis wanted to fly. To get to a place where he couldn't be harmed. Anywhere away from Oliver. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Francis saw Oliver grab a syringe, full of dark liquid. One quick motion, and the surprisingly strong Briton grabbed Francis' arm, steadied it and then jabbed the needle into the crook of his elbow. 

“Now, now, Mr. Francis! There was no need to kick up all that fuss! I promised everything would be all right, didn't I? I meant it. Just lay there and relax, that's a good lad. Feel the medicine running through your veins. It feels nice, yes?” 

Francis did feel something. A tingling then a pressure in all of his limbs, like they had suddenly gained ten pounds each. He could feel them, still able to wiggle his toes and fingers but he couldn't move them. Not an inch. His struggling was brought to a halt and he laid there staring up at Oliver with horror. There were no more questions in his mind, only words of protest he knew would fall on deaf ears. He had no choice but to give up. Oliver patted his arm fondly. 

“There. Isn't that better? Things are so much easier when you cooperate. So so much easier. Now, I'm not a total bad guy. Not entirely cruel, I would say. In fact, I'm not cruel at all, I'm just unusual!” Oliver laughed at his own joke and Francis had to wonder what exactly was going through the mad man's mind. Not cruel at all was a sentiment the Frenchman couldn't share. He looked over to see Oliver rummaging in what looked like his own satchel bag he had had while in the park. When Oliver pulled back up, he had Francis' cell phone in his hand. “Would you like to make one last call before surgery?” 

“Q-Quoi…?” 

“A last phone call! It's the least I could do. I'm going to choose the person for you though, you mentioned a husband? Let's see...” Oliver said, flicking through his phone. Francis moaned but had a slight glimmer of hope. He saw Oliver's eyes lite up and sparkle with tears. “Oh deary! You've marked him as 'Mon Amour' in your phone? You are far too sweet, I can't wait to see your sugary insides!” He said, touching the number to call. But instead of holding it up to Francis' ear, Oliver placed it to his own, listening to it ring on the other line. 

Francis wasn't surprised in the slightest when it only took a ring and half for his husband to answer the phone in a huff. He could clearly hear the anger from where he lay, even though Oliver didn't have it on speaker. 

_“Francis Bonnefoy, you had better have a damn good bloody excuse for going missing for two whole days!! I've had the WHOLE ruddy city looking for you! I--”_

“Language, sir language!” Oliver reprimanded, wagging his finger in the phones direction, clearly enjoying every agonizing minute of this. “May I ask your name, Mr. Francis only has you marked as 'mon amour'. I'm assuming you are the husband?” 

_“Who the bloody hell is this?! And yes, I'm the husband, you've got some nerve calling me from his phone. My name is Arthur Kirkland-Bonnefoy. Where is Francis? Put him on this instant!”_

“Hold on, plenty of time for that! And this isn't what you think it is, how distrusting of you! Here your husband is, about to go into surgery and you immediately jump to he is cheating on you! Shame on you!” Oliver giggled again at this point, Francis wanted to throw up and yell for Arthur. His husband's voice became hollow. 

_“Wait...surgery? Where is he? What happened? Is he alright?”_

“Oh no, I'm afraid he's not alright at all! I have to do immediate surgery! He's just lucky I bumped into him in the park! I can't imagine if this had continued to go unchecked! If his heart isn't fixed right this minute, well, I'm afraid he'll just keep going on being too trusting and loveable. That's just not good!” 

Arthur was silent for a few moments, _“Sir, you aren't making much sense to me. Where is my husband? Which hospital, I will meet you there.”_ Francis was not surprised at all how calm Arthur was, he admired him for that. 

“We aren't at a hospital, poppet! No, no. I took him back to a safe, secure location to do the surgery. No nurses, just me! It's better this way, no one can hear him scream...” Oliver said, his face becoming dark as he picked up another syringe, driving it into Francis' arm. He moaned and let a few tears fall at his desperate situation. It was loud enough for Arthur to hear, and he became angry but still calm. 

_“Don't you DARE touch or harm Francis! I promise you, if he has one hair out of place, I will kill you!”_

Oliver tutted and shook his head, “If you can find us, and you won't in time to stop surgery. Here, I'll let you talk to your beloved Francis now. I must prepare the sharp things!” He beamed, setting the phone next to Francis ear. The Frenchman was terrified, drugged and sobbing. 

“A-Arthur...I-I'm scared.” He choked out. 

_“I know, love. Take a deep breath.”_

Francis did as he was told and the sobbing quieted down. 

_“There now, stay strong, Francis. Can you describe your surroundings for me? Maybe--”_

“Non, do not give yourself 'ope. I was unconscious when I arrived and I am in a windowless room. I-I don't know where I am, or 'ow to get out. I'm strapped to a table and-and zhis mad man is going to cut me open!” Francis said, pulling feebly against the restraints again. He started to panic, his eyes darting around the room, his heart was racing a mile a minute. 

_“Francis, I need you to stay as calm as you can, no matter what happens. I promise I will find you and save you. I love you, Frog. Don't you die on me now. I will find you, hold tight to that thought and, my love, you will get out of this alive.”_

Francis sniffled and swallowed hard before sighing. “J'taime, Arthur. I will do my best. S'il vous plait, 'urry...Zhis man is cr--” 

Oliver snatched the phone away from him, holing the sharp scalpel, “Mr. Francis! It is not nice to talk about your surgeon in that manner! Goodness, let's not be rude!” He said, Arthur yelling a string of obscenities at him on the phone. Oliver held the phone far away from his ear and waited until Arthur fell silent. “Are we done? Good. You've said your goodbyes, now I will say mine. I'll call you when surgery is done, to let you know when and where you can gather him. I do want him to have a proper funeral! Goodbye, Mr. Kirkland-Bonnefoy!” 

He hung up the phone as Arthur started yelling for him to stop, not to hurt Francis. The last thing Francis heard Arthur saying was that he would come for him, no matter what. It was very hard to believe at this point but he held out hope for that.

Though admittedly, he didn't have much. 

“Why…?” He muttered looking at Oliver, his eyes filling with more tears. The Brit got closer to him with the scalpel and the cool metal touched Francis' flesh. He shivered, he could feel everything. The cold of the metal, the shape of the point, the length of the blade. Everything. He was in a desperate situation and he wanted to know why. Oliver giggled playfully, like it was a silly question. 

“There is something I need you to help me with. Now, please try to stay still while I do this. Here we go.” 

The blade pressed into Francis' skin and he knew he was going to be dead in a matter of hours. It went deep and sliced across his stomach, splitting it open almost as neatly as one would slice open a piece of fruit. Blood squirted from the vessels underneath, spraying both Oliver and Francis' untouched chest. He panted and groaned in pain as Oliver pulled the knife from his right side to his left in a line just above his belly button. 

When Oliver pulled away, he grabbed another syringe and plunged it into Francis' arm. It was a different color, once again and Francis had lost count of how many drugs he had in his system at this point. “For the pain,” Oliver quipped jokingly, roughly making another stab near Francis' chest. 

Oliver drew the scalpel down in a line, crisscrossing the opposing line. It went through and past his belly button to just the very top of his groin. He was in tremendous pain, more then he had ever been in before and he knew things were about about to get so much worse. 

“Let's take a little peek under all this skin!” Oliver smiled, and starting at a corner he'd created in the center of Francis body, he began to peel the flesh back and clamp it down as a surgeon or coroner would. Blood flowed freely but slowly, more slowly then Francis had expected. The pain and trauma was unspeakable however and Oliver kept going with the torture. “My, you don't have an ounce of fat under all these muscles! That husband of yours keeps you so trim!” Oliver chuckled, turning his back to presumably grab more tools. 

Francis didn't care anymore. He didn't want to think of the present. He only wanted to focus on his past, with Arthur as the future seemed so impossible. 

Moments later, he did feel something his brain couldn't even begin to process. Oliver's hand, bare and cold, slipped into his body and began rooting around. Organs slide around his body cavity, slick and making odd squelching noises, that made Francis' stomach turn and gurgle. Without the benefit of skin to muffle the noise, the gurgling was so loud, Francis' had a hard time believing it had come from him. Oliver smiled. 

“No more of that now, be a good lad and be quiet.” He smiled happily. 

With one swift motion, he raised the scalpel high and brought it down fiercely, stabbing it into Francis' exposed stomach. The poor Frenchman spasm violently and then wretched up some blood, taking care to spit some at Oliver. 

What did he care if he upset his captor? He knew he was dead. It was only a matter of hours, perhaps minutes. Arthur was never going to find him in time. 

His hope washed away as blood spilled out of him and he listened to Oliver hum and sing in joy at his work.


End file.
